


The Mysterious & The Damned

by earthkidsareweird



Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types, Scooby Doo! Mystery Incorporated (Cartoon 2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Murder Mystery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthkidsareweird/pseuds/earthkidsareweird
Summary: The Great War changed everybody. Nobody is the same though some changes are greater than others.Velma is finishing up medical school when Daphne pays her a visit with bad news, “Shaggy is dead.”Though upon further investigation, it turns out Shaggy is alive, but others are dying. Friends of the Mystery Gang are meeting brutal ends so it appears the gang has a new mystery on their hands.
Relationships: Velma Dinkley/Marcie "Hot Dog Water" Fleach
Comments: 6
Kudos: 2





	1. One

# One

It’s hard to say if Velma spots her first. Chances are yes because she’s the only one out of the four who knows Daphne Blake. No wait, everybody knows Daphne Blake, but the difference is that Velma knows her personally. It's been a while though. Yet still, Velma chokes back a groan hoping to ignore the girl from her past. Except Daphne's sitting there on a small truck bed not even paying attention to them. She's too busy watching the moon, which means, Velma might move away unseen.

Instead, the three other girls she’s with continue walking, and Velma stands still. She can't stop watching Daphne there gazing at the moon.

“Velma?” one of the girls asks.

“I’ll catch up with you later.”

“You sure?”

Velma looks over her shoulder at Daphne who waves to her. “I’m sure,” she lies as she turns on her heel to walk over to Daphne. The first thing she can think of saying isn't even an actual greeting, “Is that even your vehicle?”

“Nope.”

“How’d you know I was going to be here?”

Daphne hops off the truck. “I’m good at finding people.”

Ok, that’s-that’s a fact Velma' already knows. “What are you doing here? It’s been what. . .?”

“Three years.”

“Three years.”

They stand there looking each other in the eye. Not a lot of words are bouncing around between them. The city hums though. Sounds falling from row homes. Right out the window and into the street. The sound of automobiles continues even though it’s getting late. The occasional laughter escapes from some corner, feels like a distant corner, as they stand there pretty alone in a single street with the moon offering most of the light.

“Shaggy’s dead, Scrappy told me.”

“And you. . .believed him?”

At first, Daphne just shrugs. Her body language offers no extra information, not an ounce of it. There’s something too neutral about her expression and the way she pitches her shoulders. “I thought you could come with me to. . .”

But Velma cuts her off, “To what, Daph?”

“To. . .investigate.”

“Why can’t you ask Fred?”

“I did.”

“And what did he say?” Velma sighs. She shoots a look over her shoulder, her friends are gone. That’s if she can label coworkers as _friend_. “No?” Velma’s looking back at Daphne, studying her hard. To see any change in expression, any tick, anything that may translate into more of an answer. Actions speak more than words. “And that’s why you’re here?”

“Actually. . .Fred is waiting for _us_.”

Velma grinds her teeth. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Fine, I’ll go on one condition,” Velma replies. Daphne answer _yes_ by raising an eyebrow and signaling for her to go on so she gets on with it. “Why didn’t you write me back?”

“Because. . .” Again, the neutrality. There’s a lot anybody can say about Daphne Blake and apparently keeping secrets is one of them. “. . .I just didn’t, sorry.”

“Right,” whispers Velma, she looks down. “Right, let’s-let’s go then. Where’s Shaggy been living these days?”

Daphne doesn’t say much in response. She turns and leaves and leads the way. “Somewhere unbelievable, if you ask me.”


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another mystery

# Two

The Great War was bad for everybody. Success came to some, but at what cost? Velma wrinkles her brow as she stares at a painting. It's the first thing you see upon entering and it sure is impossible to miss. The painting takes up the majority of the wall's white space. Inside the painting, there are buildings all stuffed close together looking about to crumble as red flares up like fire to gobble them up with two people looking back. How many times did they see fire eat towns? Refugees? Civilians? Somebody tried to capture this and display it on canvas. Maybe they lived it or maybe they heard all the stories and their twisted fascination built this image.

"A little help!"

Velma looks to see Daphne waiting for her. The wall ends giving way to a much larger room that overlooks the city. Amazing how large the windows are. It looks as if they'll fall into outer space if the glass were to break and they took a step right over the edge.

"Sorry, distracted," Velma whispers.

Daphne smiles. "It's ok, sorry. These are hard times." For someone so straightforward, Daphne wins at not being straightforward. She'll tell a whole story about her mother not sleeping with some sort of bombshell near the end then pretend it never happened like how one time her mother went missing for three days before returning with a chicken and sticks caught in her hair and some story about being kidnapped. For some reason, Velma stares at her. And Daphne returns to saying, "These really are unprecedented times."

"I don't know if that's. . .the right word choice," whispers Velma.

Fred enters the large room, he's rubbing his hands together and looks up at the two. "Kitchen is full of food."

"This is Shaggy we're talking about. Of course, it's full," protests Daphne. "It being empty would be the actual mystery."

"How did he die?" Velma blurts.

Daphne sighs. "I. . .I don't know. Scrappy didn't give me any details just said and I quote, 'You don't want to know.'"

"I didn't see anything in the paper about it." Velma walls further into the room. There are three couches set up but none of them face the windows, and instead, face a radio that stands next to a theremin. Both are made to match furniture, but neither match the present couches. "Haven't heard anything about it either."

There's a table sitting by the radio and the couches so Velma walks over to it. An empty glass sits on it. Velma crouches there looking at it noticing fingerprints on it. There are rings all across the table making it look like swiss cheese. The aftermath of setting a glass down without a coaster for protection. On the table, there are a few old newspapers and unreadable notes. Velma moves them and freezes. Underneath is something more legible. The way Daphne and Fred stay silent makes her almost blurt Jinkies because this has to be good. Typed on the paper is CH3OH.

"Anything important?"

Velma comes close to yelping with Daphne standing right there. She moved across the room without a sound. Velma peers over the paper at her. "Don't know yet."

The door moves alerting them to somebody entering. All three look up, gawking as Shaggy enters the room with Scoob beside him. The two look as if they are in the midst of a conversation but shut up at the sight of the rest of the Mystery Gang before Shaggy blurts, "Oh no, who died?" There's some humor in his voice. Except the longer they all stare at each other it fades. "Oh no! Who died?!"

"You!" shouts Daphne. "You're dead!"

Shaggy looks down at his green sweater and touches it before he stretches down to touch his toes and even pays Scooby on the head. Then he looks back at his old friends. "No, I'm here. I'm not dead!"

"But Scrappy told me you're dead!"

"Told you not to believe him," both Fred and Velma say in unison.

Daphne groans. "Ok! But, I'm not dumb. Just worried."

"Who said what?" Shaggy and Scooby ask at the same time. 

This time when Daphne groans, she partially covers her face with her hands. "Scrappy! I just said that, didn't I?"

"I thought we all agreed to never talk about him again," mutters Fred.

"You did," comments Shaggy, "but my heart is too big to say no to that little man."

"He's not-He's not. . .He's a dog," Velma corrects. "We all realize that, right? That Scrappy _is_ a dog."

"Why would you say it like that? Nobody is arguing with you?" Daphne rolls her eyes.

Shaggy doesn't pay any attention. "Does anybody want anything? I can brew tea?" The way he says it makes it sound like he in fact does not know how to brew tea, and one of them should do it instead.

"Yes please." Velma hangs onto the paper. She tucks it out of sight and goes to turn on the radio. It sings an old sad dune for them. Fred claims to be too busy and Daphne agrees to stay. Velma stares at the radio before shouting over her shoulder, "I'll help you in the kitchen."

When Velma turns, Daphne is watching Fred slip away past the burning city. This leaves Velma to move fast. She darts into the kitchen where Scooby carries a kettle to the stove as Shaggy ignites it.

"Can I ask you a question?" Velma asks, startling the two. Scooby puts the kettle on the stove. They both nod. Any question for either or is really for both. "Why does this only say wood alcohol?" And she holds up the paper with its CH3OH.

"No, it says C H three Oh."

"Shaggy, I know some chemistry. You know that wood alcohol is…"

"Illegal," him and Scooby cut in.

"Well, yes, because all alcohol is illegal, but more important this is illegal because it's basically poison. It's not the kind of alcohol you should be drinking." Velma pauses to let this settle in. "Have you been drinking?" The question sounds vague but it's not. Just simply meaning this, as in the poison she mentioned.

Daphne walks in right as the kettle screams and interrupts, "What are you talking about in here?"

"Nothing," Velma lies.

"Scoob and I have a new job," Shaggy replies.

Both Velma and Daphne wait for a better explanation. Shaggy takes down glasses for them as Scooby takes the tea kettle off the stove.

"We look for bad alcohol."

"Like wood alcohol?'

"Yeah, like we go around to various speakeasies and Scoob uses his nose to know what is yay and what is nay." Scooby nods in agreement pouring some hot tea out on the floor. "Tea is ready." 

Only Daphne picks up a little cup but Velma puts her hand out. She stops her from drinking. "Why haven't you asked us why we're here?"

"I thought you said already. That I was dead."

"Except then why would we be here?"

Daphne puts her tea down.

"Because it looked like we had another mystery on our hands," Fred cuts in returning to Shaggy's home.

Velma glances at him. "Shaggy, you really should lock your doors."

"Oh, we're safe here. Look how high up we are, who is going to attack us."

Daphne and Fred both lift a finger coming so close to responding with the basics. There's a lot of ways for somebody to arrive here. They didn't even have to take the stairs. An elevator is available to climb up all 50 stories. Somehow Velma is finding her gaze back on the windows and saying like they're in some fairy tale.

"All the further to fall."


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murder

# Three

**Two Hours Ago**

Vincent Van Ghoul was done for the day, and soon to be done for the rest of his life. He was no true warlock and there was no way he could predict his future. It was the beginning of the end as he opened a wrought iron gate to step out onto a terrace. There’s arches above them and he walks straight past them for the last time. He took a long sip of his drink, which sounded more charming than its reality. The Bee’s Knees full of too much gin with barely any lemon justice and honey to flavor it. 

If he knew he was about to die, he would’ve probably selected a better drink.

The wind was too loud out there. A storm was coming in, those clouds were about to eat up what was left of the sky. They’d be dark if it weren’t for all the light pollution. It stained the sky orange making it look on fire. Smoke woven between flames. He wrinkled his nose while nursing his drink. Automobiles were loud enough to annoy him even though he stood so high above the city. Worse was the whirring sound of a dirigible coming in for a landing to one of the nearby skyscrapers. Vincent stared at it, it looked like a shadow against the contaminated clouds.

The gate scraped across cement catching his attention. Vincent turned taking another sip of his drink to discover his brain was playing tricks on him again. It did that more and more these days. Life got to be that way when you stepped over people toward success. He not only stepped over people but on them, used them to climb to the top of the radio business where his voice could grace the living rooms of so many homes. Him bringing in tales of horror.

_Hear that now? It is death stepping closer to you. Maybe you can’t hear it, but you can feel it. The way the little hairs stand up, you can it playing a tune along your spine like a xylophone._

Vincent ground his teeth, his molars rubbed against each other. He looked back to watch the dirigible reach out. Spotlights circled the sky. They sliced through clouds but failed to do much. The clouds were already too full of light pollution. Like in so many shows he felt death approaching, felt it dragging itself along his spine and even as he tried to take another sip to calm himself down, the alcohol did nothing but burn his throat.

_How do I know this? Well, first, please understand that this is a warning to all living mortals that whosoever opens this chest of demons will release thirteen of the most terrifying ghosts upon the face of the earth._

Behind him somebody coughed yet again when Vincent looked, he found himself alone. He stared at his terrace. The wind continued to blow. It caused all the plants up there to rustle. Giving him the sound that he was not alone. Of course, of course, that was all.

“Mr. Van Ghoul,” somebody said.

Vincent’s grip tightened, his glass shattered and it cut up his palm. Perfect, he knew that voice and it was one of the last people he wanted to hear from. He turned to look to his right where he heard somebody call out for him except before he could make sense, the world pitched off balance. Of course, he was falling, but he wasn’t so sure at first. He made eye contact with one of the dolphin fixtures looking over the city. Rather than monstrous gargoyles, dolphins glared at the city. Vincent never spotted a person. Had no idea who said the last words to him or the last words he heard.

In all honesty, the last words were his own at some point on the way down, down, down. “Fuck.”

Gravity was cruel.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I'm just really obsessed with the 1918 Flu Pandemic and 1920s so here we are (I guess). Thanks for reading!


End file.
